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Wondering what he's thinking about your soon-to-be-married sex life? Our intrepid reporter blushes and stammers and shares his thoughts on the marital bed.

For all of its joys, planning a wedding can be pretty maddening, so you’ll be pardoned if you pause every now and then to think about good old, red-blooded American sex. More intriguing than another trip to the florist, more stimulating than a chat with that unctuous little fork-rental guy—it’s all right with me if you take a few minutes to contemplate the ol’ hammer-and-tongs, the slowly melting ice cube, the tousled toss of sheets…whatever it is that sets your mind down that smooth and sweaty path.

But even as your pulse starts to race at the thought of, well, you know, your mind may race in another direction: What’s up with sex and marriage? After this thing gets signed, sealed and delivered to the courthouse, what’s gonna happen between the sheets? Will your sex life continue to sizzle and pop like truck-stop bacon on a hot greased griddle? Or will it suffer a long slow fade to gray, with all of your hard-earned poetry and passion draining from your bedroom until you get your greatest thrills from late-night cable and the steamier cinema sex scenes? And I know what you brides-to-be must be thinking (some of you, most of you). You’re wondering what he’s thinking about being conjugally conjoined with you, for the rest of your lives.

What’s your guy’s take on sex? Hell, I don’t know. I’ve never even met you. And even if I had, I’m hardly qualified to answer such a question. I’m married, yes, and I have sex, but I’m no tantric guru. I just take each day as it comes and do the best I can. It seems to work.

In truth, I am a terrible man to write this article. I don't even like to talk about sex. It makes me stammer and sweat. My eyes roll around, I fidget feebly, and I turn a quite conspicuous shade of red. I am no Wilt Chamberlain—I've had four partners in my life, and only one in the last eight years. I am intrigued, enamored and quite excitable, but far from adventurous. I have never taken anything to bed that requires handcuffs, tranquilizers or more than two C batteries. Rather, I represent something common but not appreciated enough in this world: I love my wife, she loves me, and together we have fine and satisfying sex.

Which may be, upon reflection, the very reason I should be writing this article. My wife and I are regular folks, predictable and routine, and living proof that good sex can be had without Spanish Fly, Cosmopolitan magazine or edible underwear. (Although, to be honest, that new banana-mango flavor has me curious.) And in eight years of courtship, cohabitation and marriage, I may have figured out a thing or two. Or maybe not. But I'll answer a few unasked questions just the same.

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